


Sunday at Four

by ignipes



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-12
Updated: 2006-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-02 21:42:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignipes/pseuds/ignipes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is a standing engagement, a meeting between old friends each week, if time and responsibilities allow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday at Four

She drops two sugar cubes into her teacup and stirs idly, resting her chin on her hand, looking through the rain-streaked window.

She does not see him come in -- perhaps he used the back door, how absurd he is -- but she smiles when he slides into the other chair. "Professor Snape," she says, "it is so good to see you." Another blue teacup appears on the table. "You must be very busy, with the term starting so soon. Draco is so excited he can scarcely contain himself."

"Yes," he replies crisply, picking up a silver spoon. "Very busy."

-

It is a standing engagement, a meeting between old friends each week, if time and responsibilities allow.

-

"That insufferable fraud." He scowls through the window. Outside, a handsome man is speaking enthusiastically to a group of giggling women.

She sips her tea; they are using the yellow china, delicate and graceful but inappropriate for autumn. "Isn't that man the new professor?"

"He would be, if he deserved the title."

Raising an eyebrow, she asks, "Professional jealousy, Severus?"

He snorts. "Self-preservation. If that man represents our best defences, we are certainly doomed. The headmaster is blind."

"Oh, my," she says, laughing. "What is the world coming to? Whatever will happen?"

He watches through the window and says nothing.

-

The new tea shop on Prospero's Alley opens its doors six months after the Dark Lord is vanquished by the Boy Who Lived. When Narcissa Malfoy steps in during the first week of business, the serving girls whisper behind their hands but do not hesitate to bring her a cup of tea in bone-white china.

-

She reaches across the table and touches his hand. "It was a long time ago, Severus," she says, her voice carefully even.

"Nothing has changed," he snaps.

She sighs; she feels as if she is arguing with her son. She tries again: "It is odd, don't you think, that Dumbledore can't keep a Defence professor for more than one year?"

It is the wrong tactic. "That would not be the case," he says, "if he did not hire fools and--" He stops abruptly. "Fools and idiots."

She wonders what word he was going to say before he stopped himself.

-

During the school term he cannot always make it, but she goes to the shop every Sunday nonetheless, sits at a table by the window and watches the seasons change in the china.

-

"It sounds terribly dangerous," she says, smiling with delight.

"Don't be ridiculous; it is perfectly safe." But he is smiling as well.

He tells her about dragons and trials and visitors and politics and points. She leans forward and listens, her elbows resting on the table. Quite uncouth, but she doesn't care. Sometimes, amongst the polite notes and matching teaspoons, respectable acquaintances and ambitious guest lists, she can remember the silly excitement of games and contests, gossiping over magazine articles and mocking unflattering photographs, placing wagers of sweets and promises.

She says eagerly, "Tell me who you think will win."

-

When she meets Andromeda it is a Tuesday, not a Sunday. Over blueberry scones and lukewarm tea in pink cups, they speak of nothing very important, ignoring the family names and secrets and disagreements once held close but now writ large in rumours whispered in every home, newspapers clutched in the claws of every owl.

-

She waits, but he does not warn her to be careful. He does not ask her leading questions. He does not drop quiet threats or hints. He does not ask about their summer holiday.

He says, "I hope you have spoken to Draco about the importance of doing well on his O.W.L.s."

And she says, "Oh, I have, certainly. I know he isn't the most studious boy, but he understands that he must succeed."

He looks at her sharply, the pale green teacup raised to his lips, and she wonders if she has said something she didn't mean to say.

-

When they tell her that her husband has been taken to Azkaban, she thanks them for the news and begins to mark the time by wondering how much of his mind is stolen each day.

-

She is not surprised that the shop is open. She chooses a table by the window and pretends to ignore the whispers and glares and barely-concealed mutters all around.

The street is nearly empty. Every sweep of robes, every flash of wings catches her eye. She thinks about messages she has not received, about hands bound in promise, about the conspicuous Auror following her every move, and about the warm, bright summer day.

She keeps her head high, sipping tea from dawn rose china: pale, cool, grey. She has not decided what she will tell them, when they ask again.

-

She wears black every day now. It is easier that way, both remembering and anticipating, and it is appropriate for whomever she speaks to, for whatever story she tells.

-

The first time they met, she had to persuade him.

"Sunday at four," she said, more commanding than pleading. "There is a new tea shop on Prospero's Alley. We simply must catch up. Everything is so different now."

He agreed reluctantly, grudgingly. She believed she was doing him a favour. He was too reclusive; he needed to get out more.

Everything is different now. The shop has only one set of china, sleek modern black with silver lines. She wonders if she has become one of those silly eccentrics she used to mock, always choosing a table by the window.


End file.
